Love
by Anrheithwyr
Summary: Lily Evans lived 21 years. 21 years to love, to hate, to cry, to laugh, to live, and to die. She did all of this and more. So much more, so filled with love. This is her love. This is the story of Lily Evans' life. This is how she survived and this is how she died. This story is Lily Evans. Cherish her. She, too, was human.


_Disclaimer:No, I don't own Harry Potter. Yes, this was already written BY ME. I felt it needed to be revised. So, here it is. Revised. Again, for the fifth time. I like to revise things to make them as perfect as possible. Minor changes, a word here and there.  
On with the story:_

They always said love was this instantaneous thing. "I simply took one look at him, one little glance, and I was hooked. We were in love," What utter bull.

Love at first sight was a thing of children's fairy-tales and the dreams of lovesick fourteen year old who didn't even know what love truly was.

Ask Lily Evans, she knew all about that. When she first looks at James Potter, she sees an obnoxious, boisterous eleven year old with an ego the size of a Quidditch field. How on _earth_ could she fall in love with _that?_ Simply just open her mouth and say "I love you"? Absolute lies.

She originally thinks she might, maybe, just possibly be in love with her best friend, Severus Snape. Imagine it, if you will, little nine year old Lily Evans dreaming about marrying scowling surly Severus Snape. Yet he is funny and nice, smart and sincere. Sure, it has taken nearly six years to realize it, but that June day, she finds out she was _not_ in love with Severus. She can't possibly ever be. Severus himself made sure of that. Potter made sure of that. Lily, also, has cut off their friendship, closed a door that she doesn't want to ever open again.

"_Mudblood!" _he cries, despite his promises otherwise. Despite all his defenses against his friends, who have the word sneered on their lips, fully prepared to launch a verbal attack.

"_Mudblood!"_ Despite the fact that _she_ had defended _him_.

No, she wasn't in love with Severus Snape. But still, she wasn't going to get all moony and starry-eyed over James Potter. He is still an arrogant prick. He is still the reason she and Severus were no longer friends. She has trouble looking at him with anything softer than pure contempt, if not cold, unhidden fury.

He still follows her, proclaiming his "love", as if a sixteen year old knows how to love.

"I love you, Evans," whispers Potter in her ear. '_Liar,_' she thinks. _'you have no idea what love even is. You stand there and say_ "I love you" _but you're lying. To me and yourself and anyone you ever say it to.'_

"Go away, Potter," she snarls, stomping off.

Clearly, no love at first sight. Hatred at first sight, she might have believed, but not love. Certainly not love.

/

And then, suddenly, in Sixth Year, a single lily lies on her desk. One arrives each day in her first class, fresh and still wet with dew. Always a single white lily. Honestly, even though it was supposed to be a romantic act, one the other girl's coo about, it creeps her out. And she had a fairly decent idea of whom the creeper was.

"Really, Potter?" she demands on the first day of the lilies, stalking up to him, angry and more than a little disgusted. She places her hands on his desk, staring him down.

He looks up, as if puzzled. Such a fake look. "Excuse me?" Sweet, innocent, '_I know nothing'._

"The lilies, you dimwit. Leave me alone. Stop putting flowers on my desk, pervert. It's disgusting."

"Evans, I have no idea what you're talking about," he responds coolly. His infatuation with has died a little over the summer, although she doesn't know why.

He only shakes his head and goes back to his work. Something inside of her feels empty, like she's wanted nothing more than for him to admit everything, so she has a reason to yell at him, to blame him for everything wrong in her life.

/

Needless to say, the flowers do little to spark her romantic interest in _anyone_ let alone Potter. If anything, it simply deters her away from the male population as a whole.

She continues to believe he was the one putting them, those white lilies, on her desk every morning before class. They arrive without fail, every day.

But then, there was Seventh Year, Head Boy, Hufflepuff Amos Diggory, grinning down at her, white lily in one fist. He offers it to her, hand extended.

_'He was the flower-sender,_'

"Wanna go to Hogsmeade with me this Saturday?" he asks and she laughs, says yes. Nods, accepting, a bright smile on her face. She has secretly crushed on him from afar. Not loved, just a crush. She likes him, Diggory. He's not bullying or arrogant. He's not a certain four-eyed Gryffindor, so it's okay.

/

The first date fails spectacularly. She manages to pour a Butterbeer on his robes, overturn the spaghetti plate, trip _three bloody times_. He laughs and helps her back up, jokingly calling her a "klutz". She feels so natural around him, and laughs back. It's snowing and she "forgets" to bring a coat. Amos, being a _perfect _gentleman, lends her his coat, which smells of leather and maleness.

The second and third and every other date for those splendid five months go fairly well. They talk and walk together and hold hands and kiss and...well mostly they kiss. Or talk about Amos' Quidditch team. He wasn't big on chatting about anything else, or himself. Amos and Quidditch, his two favorite subjects.

And then, he says it. Those words.

"You'll be a stay-at-home-mum, of course. Can't have you running about with a war brooding, can we? No, this thing is stirring up and I don't want you getting hurt. You'll stay home, protected. _I'll_ protect you, _I'll_ do all the work. I'm going to be very important one day, and you'll be proud to tell everyone 'Hey, that's my husband!'"

She bristles at the thought. She doesn't _want_ to be a stay-at-home-home anything! And the way he just _assumes _that after four months of dating that they're going to get married. She's still a Sixth Year, not ready to think about marrying anyone, let alone some idiot who doesn't know the real her. She shakes her head, wondering what it was she had ever seen in Amos.

She turns away, not letting him touch her. He doesn't seem to feel her anger. Amos accepts her lie about feeling sick much too easily and lets her rush away without another word.

He continues kissing her, later, saying he loves her, saying things about "leaving her at home", always as if it's already decided. As though they've already agreed to sentence her to a life of cooking dinner and cleaning house like her mum does, like her sister wants to do. Lily Evans is not her mum, is not her sister. She does _not _clean house for anyone. She gets too mad, and breaks it off.

"I can't love you, Amos," she says, meaning every word. "I can't stay home and take care of your children for you. You don't accept my dreams or ambitions. I'm not a China doll for you to dress up and dictate."

She wants him to fight back, beg for her to stay. It doesn't hurt so bad when he does, screaming and yelling and arguing. He blames it on "the other man in your life! There is isn't there? You're in love with someone else!" Accusing her of secretly dating Potter behind his back, like so many people believe. Lily is half convinced Sirius Black has made up this rumour himself.

Except she's not. She's not in love with anyone. Not even Amos. Especially not Potter.

/

She wanders about the school for the next few weeks in a haze, only coming out of her shell to eat or do her homework. Her roommates glance nervously at her, fervid whispers flying. They ask if she need to see the nurse, Madame Pomfrey. She gives them a shaky smile, and walks away.

Amos seems to brighten, seeing her so glum. He appears to think it's _him_ that's got her in a bad way. She let's him think that. She doesn't care, not anymore.

She doesn't show anyone the letter. She doesn't want anyone to read those simple words, the one that tipped her world on it's side.

_Dear Ms. Evans,_

_We have the great sorrow to inform you, of your mother's (Evelyn Cherise Evans nee Tompkins) recent passing. There was a minor explosion, an awful accident, near the shopping mall in the community of Lanarkee. It is unknown who was responsible, though we assure you that we will do everything within our power to find out who committed this illegal act. Unfortunately, your mother's body was numbered among the deceased. We are sorry for your loss. Your father (Dallen Andrew Evans) requests that you come home in the weekend of May 23, for the funeral. _

And after that, a letter from her father.

_Lily,_

_I'm sure you've heard already, but your mother has died recently when she went shopping about a week ago. Please, Lily, you've got to understand, anything that has ever happened-anything we've ever said or done, anything _I've _ever said or done-we're sorry. I'm sorry, Lily. Please, the funeral is on the 23rd. Say you'll come. You've got to come. _

There is nothing from her sister, no letter, no note, nothing. Lily doesn't expect there to be, but it hurts all the same.

She goes. She goes, wearing her blackest dress and cries, because she loved her mother. Loves her mother, no matter what. And she sits next to her aunt and her cousins and cries, listens to her father cry and her sister cry across the room, because they loved her mother, too. It was impossible to love her. You couldn't hate Evelyn Evans, it was impossible.

She can't share that with anyone, not Alice or Hestia or Marlene or Dorcas, not even when she comes back after the funeral and they ask what happened. They wouldn't understand. Lily suspects the "illegal acts" was an explosion set by a Death Eater, intent on killing as many Muggles as they could. And her mother just _happened _to be there. The rotten luck of it all tears at Lily's heart.

/

She walks away from where the other Gryffindor girls sit on the grass, laughing and talking. Lily is much to somber to hang around them. She has taken to carrying the letter around with her, stuffed in a pocket or her bag. As if, if she had it nearby at all times, maybe once she could pull it out and it would say something other than to report her mother's death.

She arrives at the front door and reaches out to grab the doorknob when it opens from the other side. _He's_ standing there, Potter. Lily tries to brush past him so he can't bug her. If he even hints at a date, she might slug him. Or burst into tears. Or both.

But he stops her, grabbing her shoulder and steering her inside.

"You ok, Evans?" he asks, sounding almost...worried.

She nods and starts past him, but he's strong, holding her in place. She finds her breath coming faster, because he's too close and she wants to throw-up. The hallway seems to be spinning.

"Evans, you ought to go to the Hospital Wing. You look right awful. You're all green. Are you going to throw-up?" he asks.

The hallway is too hot. She can feel herself sliding down the wall, melting. She's sinking to the ground and she can hear Potter's voice, but she can't make out any words.

And then, two strong arms are grabbing her, picking her up. _Potter_.

Lily struggles, twisting, but Potter would probably be too strong for her, even if she wasn't sick.

"Let me go!" she cries, trying to bite his arm. She can see his blurry shape, looking down at her.

"When's the last time you've eaten, Evans? You're lighter than an owl."

She's trying to come up with a clever response, but her head hurts and she just wants to go to sleep.

It's so hot...and she's sick...and Potter's carrying her...or is that a cloud she's lying on? And why is the hallway decorated with zebra stripes? Had the Marauders done something? Lily giggles, leans in to whisper something in Potter's ear, but he only resettles her in his arms and sighs.

"Lily, no. You're not right in the head just now."

/

When she wakes up, Marlene and Alice are sitting on either side of her.

"You're lucky Potter was there to save you, Lily."

"You were really ill."

"Madame Pomfrey thought you would die, but don't worry, you're all patched up now,"

"What did it feel like, having Potter carry you?"

"Did he kiss you?"

"Did you kiss him?"

"You did, didn't you?"

"Oh! How was it?"

"I'm jealous!"

"How precious!"

"How cute! I've got to tell Frank!"

The words flow too fast, too loudly and she can't keep up. She doesn't bother trying, letting sleep overcome her again.

/

When she wakes up again, there's Potter, sitting nervously, tucked away in a hospital chair.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" she says, attempting to growl and snarl at him, but she can't, because it hurts too much.

He simply smiles at her and calls for Madame Pomfrey.

"I've come to say hi. Do you remember anything?" She says no and he nods, looking pleased, but at the same time, slightly put out, like he expects something else. Madam Pomfrey bustles him out of the way, checking Lily over. By the time she's done, Potter is gone, out of the Hospital Wing.

He doesn't visit again.

/

Later, after getting out of the Hospital Wing, and the incident with being locked in a room with James (which she still considers a total disaster, kiss or not), she still doesn't believe in love.

And then, she's a Seventh Year, the Head Girl. He sits across from her in the Head's carriage, smirking and tapping on everything. The window, the seat, his knees, until she snaps at him.

"Sorry, Evans," he says, looking away. She isn't sure if he means the noise, or being Head Boy, or for everything. She isn't sure that she cares.

/

It's November before she'll manage to have a civil conversation with him, without him asking her out or her threatening to hex his bollocks off.

He's funny and smart in his own way. He has an odd sense of charm, but he uses it mostly to get him and his friends out of trouble. He sometimes still asks for odd requests, like to kiss her, or to hug her. She allows the hug, but the offer of a kiss is met with a snowball to the face.

For Christmas, she receives an unmarked package. It contains a Muggle camera and the instructions for the potion that makes photographs move. She loves it and uses it to take pictures of everything.

One photo is of Potter and Alice, arms wrapped around each others waist, while Frank looks on, making sure nothing happens. They all look happy, snow dusting their faces and hair, as they laugh for the camera.

Potter is her friend, a surprise to all. Her friend, despite Marlene's protests of otherwise. She knows about the kiss and has decided it means destiny.

/

Maybe that was why she disapproves so much of her older sister, Tuney's, soon-to-be-marriage, because she can't quite understand, or believe, in love. Tuney claims it to be a miraculous thing, one of wonder, falling in love.

"Of magic?" her friend, Yvonne, teases, laughing. Tuney gets a funny look on her face. She hates any mention of magic, of the other side that exists, because she _knows _it exists.

"Don't be silly, Vonny," she says.

Lily sits there, waiting for the "marriage" to fail. It was purely ridiculous. And not just because Petunia was marrying a whale. Her fiance, Vernon Dursley, was a large, loud, rude man who seemed unable to love anyone, let alone her sister.

She just asks, "When's the marriage?" and says she'll be there, when it happens. Maybe. Possibly.

/

And then, Amos sends her a note with his owl, named Cecile. Lily used to call it "Amos Junior" because she would follow her master around everywhere, even sometimes to class. The note reads:

_Dear Lily, _

_I know last year you said it wouldn't work and I wouldn't believe you. I still don't. Lily Evans, I am still in love with you, very much and I would like it if you would meet me at the next Hogsmeade village day. Send Cecile back with your response and the next date. Please, Lily, give me another shot? I'm madly in love with you._

_Love,_

_Amos. _

She accepts, meeting him in the village December 12. They walk around, and to her wishes, don't acknowledge her upcoming birthday, but the conversation is awkward anyway. He talks about his job at the Ministry in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She oohs and aahs at all the right places, but there's no connection. He seems to feel it too, for when it's time to leave, he lets her walk away with a simple peck on the cheek and a "Good-bye, Amos."

A few months later, there's a letter explaining he'd gotten married and expecting a child in late September. His last words are "I understand why you don't love me anymore, but I just wanted to say good-bye one last time."

And it's good-bye forever, though neither of them know it yet. She'll never see him again, won't have any sort of connection with him for another fifteen, sixteen years, seventeen years.

/

She's standing in front of him, in the middle of the library, and he's grinning down at her.

"I know you don't believe in love at first sight and you don't love me, Lils, but can you give me a chance? Just one and if I screw it up, well, I tried, and we'll both realize whether it was meant to be." She's so reminded of Amos, she almost says no. But he's not Amos, he's James. She says yes. He's grown up, he's not so immature, he's changed. She gives him a chance-one chance.

/

The first date is awkward. Her hands swing at her sides and conversation is slow.

Eventually, they both began talking about Charms, how she loves it and he can't grasp it. She offers to help. He accepts, only after he insists on paying her back by helping her with Transfiguration.

The next few dates (for James had not "screwed it up") went a little easier. They talked about Remus and his "furry little problem" as James called it and how annoying Professor Sinistra was.

/

It's December of the next year, 1978, and he asks her to marry him. They've been dating for a mere year and a few months, but she still says yes. Somehow, she feels that James is the one, the only. Even if she doesn't believe in love at first sight, she still sort (just a little) of believes in soulmates. She wonders if James is her soulmate. His way of proposal is stupid and romantic and just completely James. What else is there to say but yes?

They get married in April of the next year. Sirius is their best man. She can't get the smile off her face and when they have their picture taken, James and Sirius and her, she doesn't cover up her face like normal. She beams back at the camera, daring it to stop her from being happy.

She looks adoringly over at James, who stares, starry-eyed straight back.

/

And then, it's December, a year later, and she's nineteen. Lily's been throwing up a lot, recently, and she's scared.

The test comes back _positive, positive, positive._

James is happy, almost skipping with glee. When he tells Remus and Sirius, the only thing that momentarily crashes him is their identical looks of dismay, Remus in fear of the war, Sirius because he feels he has another thing, besides Lily, to lose his best mate to.

She lets him, James, have his moments of joy, where he runs about, looking gobsmacked, or simply has to hug her, whispering repeatedly, "There's a baby in there. There's a baby in there. It's mine. It's ours, Lils. We're having a baby!" It's cute and hilarious and a damn good photo op. They write letters to it constantly, originally all signed to the "baby" and from "Lily and James", like writing to someone they barely know, but eventually becomes "Dear Sweetheart" and "Love, Mummy and Dad".

/

It's July, and he's healthy, the little baby boy, whom they name Harry. James grins away and nearly freaks the Healer out with his cackling. But they have a baby and it's James' baby and he's a dad.

They keep writing letters. They keep loving each other and Harry.

/

She sits by nervously. Dumbledore had just informed them of the Prophecy a week ago.

She hopes, selfishly, that it's Alice's baby that gets picked. It's Alice's baby who's targeted by Voldemort, and not her own.

The guilt overwhelms her and she burst into tears.

James comforts her, but Lily never explains the tears.

/

It's early October, a year later. She sits by his crib, the little fourteen month old, the little bundle of of joy that's all hers and James. They made him, they had given him life. He makes her happy, Harry and James. Her men.

Looking at Harry always makes her want to hug someone.

For the first time in her life, Lily believes in love at first sight.

She has loved Harry from the moment she found out about him, those _positive, positive, positive_.

And, rocking him, humming, she whispers in his ear, "You'll struggle, trying to find the girl of your dreams. You may doubt that love even exists. But don't worry, baby. I love you. Daddy and I have always loved you. From the moment we laid eyes on you. For you, it was love at first sight."

And she believes it.

/

Somewhere, a man, thirty-two, sits by his young son, cuddled together on the boy's bed. They look almost identical in sleep, the little one nuzzling his father's chin, the book dropped onto the edge of the bed. The same hair, the same pale faces, the same love hidden under their eyelids, written across bright green eyes.

Ginny Potter smiles at her six year old son and her thirty-two year old husband, wondering where such a man learned such great love, having been deprived of it himself for ten years. She doesn't yet know, may never know, that thirty-two years ago, a woman gave birth to a baby boy with dark hair and loving green eyes and that woman promised to love this child forever. That love, her love, stayed with him forever, even now.

Because she was loved and she loved, and Harry still loves today. Because, once upon a time, there was a girl named Lily Evans, and she didn't believe in love at first sight until she'd held her son for the first time.


End file.
